Somewhere in my brain is a worry machine. It is old and loud and creaky, but I can't find it. I want to pull the plug, or oil the hinges or anything to make it quiet down.
I worry about screen time.
But then I hear Grace talking along with the show, or Laura singing, and they're both dancing/ running in circles. I don't care any more.
I worry about feeding them healthy food. I spend hours looking up recipes.
But then then my kids only eat the same two dozen foods, so I start to lower my expectations.
I feel that the house is a mess AGAIN.
Didn't I just clean it? Is it as bad as I feel it is?
I'm not exercising anymore. My routine is gone.
How will I get it back? Too tired.
When should I go to the grocery store?
We have nothing in the house. We have so much in the house, but not what I want/ need. First world problems. Just deal.
Why did I sign the girls up for swim lessons?
There is a line where people wonder, What is normal and what is PPD? With postpartum depression, your entire body is shutting down. You cannot cook. You cannot clean. You're just scraping by with what must-must-must happen. Every day, Will and I decide the one thing I will accomplish that day. Just one. If I do more: hooray! If I don't- all good. My anxiety lessens.
I'm learning to ignore more. As the stress rises, crashing like waves on both sides of me, I focus on my brain's recording of Will's voice saying, "It doesn't matter."
(I should embroider that on a pillow.)
It being the worry. The manifestation of a false demon. The dilemma forming in my brain, clouding my sight, my mind. Worry is intrusive. Worry isn't welcome. I can't stop it, but I can combat it.
Julie and Will's coping mechanisms for worry:
1. Breathing (deeply)
2. Perspective (what is actually happening right now)
3. Stress scale (is this being exacerbated by something else, including sleepiness?)
4. What can I do about it? (Practicals, plans, and pursuit)
5. Get enough/ more sleep.
Speaking of which- off to bed. Tomorrow is another busy day.
My "rules" for this series are short (especially before commenting): this topic is personal and I am currently living in it. This is not an abstract for a dissertation. I do not have 20/20 hindsight yet. I don't need any medical advice, as I keep in close communication with my own PA + Dr., as well as being married to one. My husband and I practice many different types of coping mechanisms as well, which I will write about too. My situation is 100 percent unique and I am writing only about myself. These posts are directed at no one, and still, I am opening myself up to share my experiences. If I can help one person, it will be worth it. Please respect this adult conversation at face value.
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